Mute Bells
by LaSuen
Summary: The plot evolves from the moment in the 25 episode when Light finds Ryuzaki on the roof of the Headquarters building. One-shot. Slash.


**Title: **Mute Bells (Немые колокола)

**Author**: Serenada aka Sapfir

**Translator**: LaSuen

**Beta**: lillyankh

**Disclaimer**: I do not own anything.

**A****/N: **Thanks to Serenada aka Sapfir for her fascinating story! I thank my beta lillyankh, for she was of great help to me. Hope you will enjoy it! Reviews are much appreciated!

**Mute Bells**

Somewhere over there, outside this huge and empty building, the rain is pattering. Somewhere over there, a tolling of bells dissolves in the air, burdened with icy drops. Light cannot make out that sound. "Wedding," Ryuzaki guessed, "or...". The unspoken word hangs sodden in the air, the detective's voice fading, perhaps with a preternatural sense of the meaning behind it. The weather would indeed suit a funeral.

Light doesn't give a damn. He doesn't care about the cloudburst, about the bells, about all the newlyweds and all the deceased. There is but one body he wishes to see lain in the damp earth. In the orgy of gloating nothing should distract him. Just like now.

A small action, shocking in its subtlety. A triumph of Justice; the gates to the New World opening. The more unexpected this awareness, the sweeter it is. Light relishes its taste like savouring ambrosia for the first time. He watches – and he can't watch as much as he wants.

A hunter is crouching on his knees in front of his prey.

Or, put more poetically: a penitent sinner doth throw himself before the feet of God.

The comparison acquires its needful details in Light's mind: it swells like a corpse left in water for a week. Pathos reaches the monstrous size, goes out of all the imaginable scopes, but just for a second – for one infinitesimal second – can he not indulge himself? Once Time takes a few shuddered intakes of breath, the charm would disperse. There would be no sinner and no God – just a boy, disheveled and soaked to the skin, who dropped on the knees before his friend, drenched to the same degree, to help him wipe his feet. Something wrong in this phrase jars him, bringing him down from his lofty perch above the world. The word 'friend' cuts his chest so fiercely that it resounds in his heart, palpitating in a measured rhythm.

'Friend'?

Nonsense. In all possible meanings of this word.

The moment is gone, but the Gates of the Perfected World are still opened. God can begin his reign, make himself at home in the new residence, and put his toothbrush on the bathroom shelf.

For starters, God takes a towel and reaches to his beloved sinner – his apostate, the oppressor of the true religion, who carefully holds God's foot in his cold hands and is not even aware of what it means. Or is he?

A terry fabric greedily absorbs the water that is dripping from Ryuzaki's hair. Only now the detective notices that new drops fall on Light's softly-golden skin. He mumbles apologies for some unknown reason. He casts a tenacious look through his heavy wet fringe at Light, who somehow loses his divine gaze and becomes a man again – as much as he is still able. A true God does not need to ponder over the looks of simple, insignificant mortals, but Light can't break this habit yet. Especially when Ryuzaki is involved.

Ryuzaki is strange. Light Yagami has met strange people in his life, but Ryuzaki is unique, and Light yearns to solve the mystery of this crouching enigma. He fancies to cut him, like a fruit, and see what is inside. Light wanted the kernel to appear rotten, to be bloody and filled with maggots. But he knew it was not true. And knew that it would disappoint him. Light doesn't like to disappoint himself.

With another wistful wipe of Light's foot, Ryuzaki says quietly: "Sad, is it not?"

He's not waiting for an answer, and Light is silent. He's not sad. It's better to just _be_. He relaxes, allowing Ryuzaki's touch to calm him. Is there any point in questioning himself? If the New World will bury everything that was before, along with this rain, this place and this unhurried caress of his foe, then…

"We'll be parted soon." Ryuzaki's words echo Light's reflections, halting his train of thought before it takes a dangerous turn.

His words put Light on his guard – what makes him so sure when the Kira Investigation is still in full swing?

The tone of his voice is unnerving – there is something in it… that shouldn't be there. Ryuzaki rarely talks that way. L even less. Which one of them is lying to Light right now? Or – to Kira?

He can't forget about that; he can't afford to. Especially now, when he is a stone's throw from victory, when there aren't any flaws in the plan and the last sacrifices are defined. Nothing to stop for, nothing to regret, nothing to doubt. It is so simple – Light has almost forgotten how easy it would be to slip.

Only the desire to feel his own superiority before the best detective in the world halts him.

He pities only that this convoluted game with L is drawing to its inevitable close.

He doubts only the meaning of Ryuzaki's thoughtful gaze gliding over him.

"Everything is going to be alright, Light-kun," L assures, his deceptively soft voice deadpan. He promised to give Light a massage – he always fulfils his promises. Warm fingers rub Light's foot with competence, sending shivers of heat all over his body. The detective's dark eyes are crestfallen, and it hits Light that Ryuzaki does not believe in what he says.

It's wrong. There is some truth in it – everything is indeed going to be alright in the new world. Only, there is no place for Ryuzaki left in there. But, on the face of it, the statement is correct, is it not?

Light wants to prove it. He wants to make Ryuzaki believe, to impose his will on him, to make him see the divine categories.

And right away.

"Yes," Light says, pulling a gold-wrapped sweet out of his pocket. The wrapping rustles pleasantly as he extricates the chocolate. Light can't hold a smirk when he throws a cursory glance at Ryuzaki, knowing for sure that the detective is watching him. Ryuzaki's hands freeze, his eyes following the sweet to Light's mouth. Yagami is not hurrying. At first, takes a small bite, deliberately savouring it. The chocolate melts quickly, sticking to Light's thumb and index finger. A fragrant aftertaste hangs on his lips. L is watching, even staring now, his concentration almost palpable, his eyes swelling with anguish.

Light doesn't like it. He grabs Ryuzaki by his wrist, pulling him up, and leans forward, wanting to erase this uneasy feeling. Light kisses him, neither with timidity no with aggression, but as if they had done this a thousand times. Ryuzaki's mouth is sweet. Not because of the epithet. Just because L has a sweet tooth. Just because he has eaten so much sugar in his life that all those cakes, tarts, chocolates, doughnuts, soufflés, muffins, lollipops and fruit jellies saturated him completely and rendered him sugary to the marrow of his bones. That's why his mouth and his kiss are so sweet. Light is so carried away by his exploratory activities that he does not wonder why Ryuzaki is so meek and compliant, why he responds to the kiss instead of punching him to the death on the floor. Neither closes his eyes – that would defeat the point. Light is watching his subject, waiting for L to quit looking like an animal at bay, hunted down and jaded of chase. Nothing happens.

Light moves away, licks his slightly swollen lips and asks, almost composedly:

"Tasty?"

"Yes," Ryuzaki shoots back, his voice confident as always. He is so calm and impassive that it makes Light want to hit him. He knows that they can fight very well and has tested this theory more than once.

But now, there is no reason to fight.

Light gets up, holding Ryuzaki's hand, and pulls the detective along behind him. Ryuzaki silently yields without comment, protest or questioning. He knows. He always knows everything, damn him. Usually Light likes it, but not now. A malevolent thought in his head reminds him that there is one thing L is still unsure about – Kira. There was even a time when the percentage was as low as five per cent… since then, Yagami hasn't asked about the dynamics of numbers, but he suspected that it had increased, and increased a lot. Only it's not yet one hundred. And it will never be. Light is stronger, smarter, luckier, more cunning and farsighted. It is he who leads Ryuzaki by the hand; it is he who dictates his will. Whatever L thinks he knows and whatever his attitude is, L will obey him.

The cold floor swallows the echoes of their steps. They are both barefoot, Light's shoes left dripping on the staircase.

This ridiculous structure has its advantages, after all; it has a lot of rooms. They go down into the depths of the building, winding their way through labyrinthian corridors with endless rows of doors on either side. Light knows which room they need, and so they are there within minutes. Ryuzaki pulls his hand away, but only because there is no way out – the door is locked, they are isolated from Japan, from Shinigami, from Kira. The downpour is raging beyond the tightly shut window, but it doesn't matter now. L looks at Light, his owlish eyes tinged with amused curiosity. There was a feeling of danger and connection in that look, as if they were still tethered by the chain that had been an inescapable reminder of their silent battle.

Light knows and doesn't know what they are doing at the same time.

He knows that L must be within his control. He doesn't know if he truly wants it.

He knows that L never acts without reason. He doesn't know what the man's reason is now, nor whether it will be a danger to him.

He knows that he wants to make L suffer, because the detective still manages to get under his skin, to disrupt his plans and screw with his head. He doesn't know if this will be enough to finally extinguish that confident, arrogant look in L's eyes that makes Light's blood boil.

Damp clothes swaddle their bodies in a cocoon. It's cold, and Light almost tears his shirt off, his mind focused on his objective. The moist fabric lands on his feet in a desolate heap, sodden and dull and grey. Ryuzaki looks down at it, and then, after a short pause, takes off his stretched, shapeless shirt. His snowy white skin gleams with moisture, almost iridescent. It is not lost on Light that his adversary has an angelic appearance, beautiful yet somehow unsettling in this twilight room. Without his clothes, the man seems slender and fragile, weak. Light knew this not to be true – after all, L is a skilled sportsman and rather strong – and yet, his posture, his countenance, suggests that he is defenseless, easily crushed, like a butterfly in the hands of a malicious child. Is this vulnerability L's true self, or another deception to fool Light?

"Light-kun," Ryuzaki whispers, finally speaking. His voice is neutral and it is impossible to fathom what he is going to say, but Light has no intention of listening. His own name blows in his head like a signal. He approaches Ryuzaki, clutches him with both hands and silences him in the most simple and effective way. Maybe that is exactly what L expected. Maybe he wasn't going to say anything anyway.

Who cares? Light certainly doesn't.

There is a bed in this room – the only thing that makes sense in the blurred and sullied world they somehow entered through the rainfall. The bed is a tether, a symbol of security, and they head towards it.

They don't look like lovers. Their kisses are research, their touches are mathematical equations. Each action is carefully planned, each movement calculated to the finest degree. Their bodies succumb, their minds assent. Nothing complicated, not one snag. It is as if they have been together for eternity; their bodies like instruments being played by the finest masters, so sure of their ability that they could do this with their eyes closed.

But the simile is flawed. They still don't close their eyes. What would be the point? Isn't that precisely what they have come here for? To catch the moment of an utmost vulnerability, to read a foe like a book… If they can maintain eye contact, if they could see into the mind – and downwards through the spine, splintering the vertebrae, tearing the trachea and lungs, cutting through the heart and stomach, pulling the liver out, then go back to the same rapt eyes and ask: "So, do you feel that?"

Ryuzaki allows himself to be pushed onto the bed. He permits his legs to be pulled out. He allows Light's hands to do everything they desire. He permits himself to lean back and breathe a bit faster than usual.

Light understands that he's going to lose his self-control because of this unconditional obedience. It's bad… and sweet, driving him into a frenzy. He needs to get a grip on himself in order to stamp out this blind lust for possession, to… remember – he is here for… for… Light can't concentrate under the piercing stare of those black pools, he convulsively grasps at his thoughts, – to make L suffer, to punish him, to avenge…

If he thinks of nothing else, it is simple. To cause insurmountable pain in the body spread beneath him is simple. Especially now. Light gets what he wishes with murderous ease, in one blow – by that, he ruins himself, because he doesn't want it anymore. Because the body predictably arches off the bed. Because L's voice is mute. His face does not contort in agony, but his eyes are eerie. They teem with squealing, cringing anguish and ache, no place left for other feelings. His look is so filled with pain that there is no need in reactions of his body. The pain is so absolute that Light himself feels it – somewhere inside his chest, slightly to the left.

All of a sudden, he halts, scarcely breathing. In the next instant he doesn't care about causing pain, becoming tender. Light knows how to be tender. And that's not the extent of what hypocrisy has taught him. But Light had never been tender honestly. This is unusual, odd and sweet. Sweet is because his lips, yet again, find their way to Ryuzaki's, and Light can't shrug off the feeling that he's apologizing.

It seems, Ryuzaki accepts it – he closes his eyes, locking the avalanche of pain and desperation in himself, not letting it out.

Light doesn't understand what's going on. The perfect system of causes and effects is ruined, his pragmatic intentions go to hell. The rival is panting fast, his body responds to all Light's movements and touches, and Light could consider it his final victory if only he isn't giving up as much, and even more, back to Ryuzaki. Hardly anyone has seen Light as real as he is now, for just a few short moments. And if L took a glance at him right now – he would understand, his phenomenal intuition would prompt an unerring conclusion. How good that he is not watching…

And how wrong.

He is the one that has a right to know. To know everything that draws up Light-Kira's entity. He is so close to the end of a jigsaw, he – a detective of such genius – and he is letting it fall right out of his hands. He is overwhelmed with pleasure and pain, he is full physically and emotionally – and he permits Light to take him wholly, as if serving a meringue on a porcelain saucer.

A meringue.

A kiss.

His lips are torn, like a cherry-coloured flower blossoming on the pale face. Sensual, raucous moans would fit the picture, but Ryuzaki is silent. Only to the very end, with a whistle, he makes a shuddered intake of breath, grabbing Light's shoulders with such strength that bruises are likely to be left there. Deciding that it isn't such a bad idea after all, Light tears himself out of his own body with pulsating pleasure and appears in a crimson abyss.

When Light becomes himself again, he is stabbed by the tarry blackness of Ryuzaki's eyes. They are even bigger than usual, if that is possible at all. They are so bright that all colour seems drained from the world. Previous feelings are still there. They have not been erased, as Light so hoped they would be.

Light can't stand it anymore. He's oppressed by his inability to drive this apologizing, helpless anguish out of L's gaze. This inability to understand where it came from is killing him. These two eyes are like little dark mirrors that reflect Light's own soul, suspicious, alerted and sad.

This simple isolated room makes Light feel like a common human. Thoughts about ruthlessness for the greater good, about the creation of the perfect world, about the ascension of new God are still here – they were with him for such a long while that he can't ever lose that. But now they seem cold, erratic and absurdly big in the tiny space of the bedraggled bed, a few square metres in area. These old thoughts are cudgeling his brain, the heavy stony ball of his purpose crushing the illogical impulses that threaten to overwhelm him. However, Light has almost broken: he is ready to ask Ryuzaki, and that is to admit that his deductive skills malfunctioned.

Words hang on the edge of his lips, ready to take the perilous final jump, when L's mobile rings. The detective placidly releases himself from Light's grip, gropes for his trousers on the floor, pulls out his telephone and answers:

"Yes." A moment's pause follows, then L says composedly: "Okay, Yagami-san, we are coming."

Whatever you say about it, Ryuzaki's voice never fails him. Just like now, when L utters, without looking back:

"It's time to go, Light-kun." With that, he begins putting on his clothes.

Light doesn't understand why he, again, wants to punch Ryuzaki. Everything happens just as he planned. But still, he can't get rid of the feeling that somewhere he has made a serious mistake.

***

In a spacious room that dejects Light's spirit, nothing has changed. With a slight hum, massively advanced supercomputers work hard, light beaming from their huge monitors. Sometimes the meaning behind all that is happening in this room weighs down on him unbearably. Who is it they are looking for, if Kira is under their noses, unsparingly systematizing and analysing the data, diligently repeating the necessity of capturing the mass murderer? A prolonged, annoying farce.

His father works at one of the remote computers, Matsuda and Aizawa are loafing, sprawled on the sofa. Having placed himself on the wide spinning armchair – his legs pulled up to his chest as always – L shreds out the ripe red apple. His knife is not likely to be sharp enough, but he perseveres. At first, he peels the skin, then relishes the crunchy flesh inside with gusto. Light thinks quizzically that if Ryuk were here, he would have gobbled up the apple along with L's hand. Light wonders how the Shinigami is tackling its apple withdrawal.

Ryuzaki seems to be brooding, but he says nothing, eating his apple absent-mindedly, unheeding of the attention he is being paid. He becomes alert only when Watari comes for the arrangements of his chief – or charge – Light does not know what the true nature of their relationship is.

L explains something to Watari in an undertone, but all Light's attention is focused on their eyes, the words flying past his ears unnoticed. Something is wrong. It is so painfully apparent that Light doesn't understand why all the others can't perceive it, can't feel it almost tangibly.

Ryuzaki nods to Watari, letting him go, but at once lays his hand on the man's shoulder, making him stay still. Watari waits for the further instructions, but L simply stares at him and clenches the grip hard. Opposite to Light, Watari understands. After an infinitesimal frown he gives a lingering nod, assenting to something. And then with an unexpected gesture he slides his hand over Ryuzaki's hair, as if stroking a little child. Watari smiles a sorrow smile. At that moment he looks very old and weary.

L droops his head, removing a hand, and Watari leaves – with an obscure ancient gait.

Ryuzaki sits, fixed, for a while, his legs brought close to his chest and his chin rested on his knees. The silence is queer, it roars with emptiness; the absence of the unremitting, plotting thoughts which are so natural for L jars terribly. Light is going to strike up a conversation about something, anything. But, all of a sudden, Ryuzaki decisively stands up, stooping as usual with his hands deep in the pockets of his baggy trousers. He makes for the exit, casting into the nothingness a few words:

"I'll be back soon."

'Soon' stretches into an hour.

Light does not understand what's coming to him – he peers into a monitor displaying some analytical data and cannot comprehend a bit of it. Ever and anon, his fingers slip along the keyboard, but they don't push any keys. For the first time in an age, Light can't concentrate. His thoughts are revolving around L, around his cryptic behaviour, where he was going… how warm and silky his skin is. How insufferably white he is. How enchantingly black. All in contrast, the black and white snapshot that has come to life from some bewitchment and that is now here, amongst ordinary people. He is, in fact, a stranger in this world, a world from which he is so deftly hiding with all his pseudonyms, in that watch-tower-building. A solitary boy with a sweet tooth who just happens to be capable of solving any logical tasks, silently suffocating because his entire life is an incessant gloomy lie. He can end it in one way only: die. Surely, that is all Light is doing – setting him free? Isn't it?

His temples gnawing with nagging pain, Light extracts a furiously contradictory understanding out of the depths of his subconscious: in effect, he, Light, wants Ryuzaki to be alive, and be with him.

But, more fervently, Kira wants to see L's dead body at his feet.

The reason that Kira is more significant and fiercer than Light himself leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. Only for a wisp of a second. God must not be weak.

Everything has been predestined from the very beginning. Light can't take L with him. Here, in the world, choking in the violence, L is omnipotent. From his somber corner, he can rule people's lives, like a peculiar idol. But there, there he would have nothing to do, because there is a position for one god only. Light could take anybody… but not him. There is logic in it: some other man, not so strong, not so equally great, would fail to draw Light's attention. His own pride is the reason for solitude on the new Olympus. Nevertheless, they have a lot in common…

There is only one thing left – to execute the sentence that was decided at the very moment when Light heard L's voice, declaring war publicly on TV. The plan was plain and subtle; Light doesn't like excessively cumbrous constructions. To jeopardize Misa – that is all it takes. Rem is sure to defend her darling, and she will write in her Death Note Ryuzaki's real name, and she will pay for it with her own life. Shinigami must not gratify their whims: it is a mortal sin. As is would seem it is for humanity.

A thought scratches in his mind, and Light strives to ignore it, but the thought is too much important. It's like a little reassurance, an excusive weakness…

He won't have to kill L with his own hands.

However forcefully Light controls himself, the sigh of relief nevertheless rushes out of his chest.

***

Light shivers when the door swings open. L stops on the threshold and looks at his feet. He almost disappears in the dense shadows. Light sharply stands up, unable to feel his body, leaden from sitting for so long, and makes for the detective. It seems to him that Ryuzaki has great difficulty remaining where he is.

"Is everything okay?" Light says, though he knows very well that the question is ridiculous. Everything is not okay. L doesn't look like himself, and he is going to die. Light should endeavour not to think of it.

When Ryuzaki looks at him, it is with such an unnerving gaze that Light's flaxen hair stands on end. Everything, every emotion that was in Ryuzaki's eyes is concentrated at him, judging him. The detective's eyes gleam with anger; there is something new in them, something scary. Light himself can't perceive what it is, he only knows that the human being ought not to look that way. L's face calm and fixed, the calmness and apathy of Death.

"I need to talk to you," L says quietly, turning and going out.

As soon as they are in the corridor, Ryuzaki grabs him by the wrists, tightly, almost painfully. His eyes downcast, stooping even more than usual, he leads Light along with him. The situation is mirrored and this provokes a hollow smirk from Light, disturbing him slightly.

'What is he up to?'

Light still has no idea when they enter the room, nothing except a massive wardrobe and a few chairs inside, dust motes on the floor. Light scowls and does not understand why the colloquy required coming in here.

"Ryuzaki, what's wrong?" he asks, trying to sound impassive.

L doesn't answer. Instead, with his head still drooped, he comes up to Light and hugs him in a kind of convulsive, desperate movement and pulls him to his chest. This is weird, this is so unlike Ryuzaki, this is almost frightening – and this pulls the floor from under Light's feet. Ryuzaki's body is warm and familiar, soft black hair tickles Light's cheek like a fluffy fur of an animal. He likes to feel all of this. He likes to wrap his hands around L's slender body, stroking his back soothingly. Even more – he wants it to last as long as possible, he wants to feel the sensation of the unity with this man. In a few seconds – not later – Light will have to purge the situation and his emotions, because he will fall. But sometimes a few seconds are longer than the eternity, and for now he can simply ask – in a low, tender and real voice:

"How are you?"

L slackens his clasp a bit, removing a hand, and kisses him ardently. Light doesn't admit to himself his own gratitude for this gesture, but he answers with eagerness.

L is bland. His tongue and gum are tasteless, his lips just warm and soft. The entrancing dainty is gone, as if someone has washed Ryuzaki's mouth with soap, forever destroying the sweetness within.

Light feels blunt chagrin and he is going to tell L as the detective breaks the kiss.

He has no time for uttering even a sound before L, his eyes still closed, breathes out in Light's lips one single word, intimate and trusting.

"Kira…"

He has said it before, and often, but now it sounds different: not mere guesswork, but a firm belief, certainty. Light understands that he has failed even before a wave of blinding pain cripples him as L sinks the knife deep into his chest.

Light had no doubts that the strike is fatal. Ryuzaki, as any other talented man, is skillful in almost everything he does. Now there is no need in overthinking his every move, in weaving everything with lies. He can let go. His legs still prop his suddenly heavy body; his lips, for some bizarre reason, stubbornly forcing out:

"I am… not…"

Only now does L open his eyes and look at him. His ebony irises blend with the pupils. Light sees himself – insignificant, broken and, however ironic it is, fooled. And then, on the smooth surface of those black mirrors, cracks are splitting, as if something is bursting out, and a stream of befuddling, crying anguish pours on Light. In a few long moments, Ryuzaki's shrewd eyes are replaced by deep black pools, illuminated with a red spark. Now it is only possible to see the smouldering cinders of released pain and the apathetic insanity of the man who has lost everything that it is possible to lose.

There is no need for Light to think of anything anymore, but he must understand, must learn what mistake led to this. Seizing Ryuzaki's shoulders with his convulsive fingers, Light scrutinises his face – and curses his idiocy.

Light knows what it is.

These are Shinigami's eyes.

Not Ryuzaki's.

Finally, his body yields to his mind's arguments saying that death is too close. He cannot die standing upright, so he begins to sink onto the dirty concrete. L doesn't let him fall. He sits on the floor and settles Light on his lap, carefully embracing him with an arm, his other hand tightly gripping the long sharp knife that had all-to-recently been used for the harmless task of paring an apple.

His vision slowly fading, Light pierces his gaze into Ryuzaki's face, his final sight burned into his mind. He only has strength for a few words, and he chooses the wrong ones:

"You have no right… They'll… arrest you…"

His throat is contracting, it's hard to speak, but Light overpowers himself and ends his raving. All is finished – who will care if L had the right or not? He will talk himself out. He is smarter than the Devil, is he not? Nobody will arrest him. And…

It's oppressing to have all these fatuous, needless, empty thoughts when one has only precious seconds. The dying mind is dashing around, desperate to cling to something, anything, that could save it.

Humankind has lost its chance for a righteous, clean world.

There is no Heaven, no Hell for the owner of Death Note.

They will laugh at him. Meaningless people, dull-witted, caught in their trifling interests.

In vain has he lived eighteen years, in vain was he the best student of Japan, in vain has he rejected all the simple pleasures and simple joys of life.

He was – has been – not a very good man, maybe… though, who's looking into that now?

In the blink of an eye, Light goes over it in his mind, but it brings him neither comfort nor pain. His attention flings back to Ryuzaki – only the thoughts about him still make sense. It confuses him, but he is peaceful. Everything is right. Everything is just as it should be.

"Hush," says L, his lips curling into a sad smile. Light feels Ryuzaki's fingers in his hair. It's nice.

"I had no right, of course," Ryuzaki continues softly, "but nobody will jail me. They can't. You've lost, Light-kun, but so have I. Both of us fell from our summits, and both of us smashed to death."

It's a tie. Kings tumbled down from their thrones, nobody to play further. For the sake of figuring him out, L made a deal with his own principles. What did it cost to him? What has he had to break inside him for the sake of attaining his cherished goal? For the sake of the "hundred per cent"?

Light knows the answer, though he would not like to know it. Now he feels painful, but yet it is not the pain of a numb, foreign body. The ugly "what ifs" pile up in his mind, but he cannot even begin to think them through. They both just don't have and won't have another future. The only judge is death. Ludicrous and sad.

"I feel so sad, Light-kun… I've never been so sad." L's voice sounds like a portentous echo. There is a wrinkle between his eyebrows, the corners of his lips drawn. Light looks at him, with the last of his strength he stares at these empty black eyes – and the mistake dawns on him. All day long, it seemed to him that Ryuzaki's eyes fooled him, concealing splinters of emotions and hiding a secret. But there was no secret. The dark luminous mirrors were reflecting a cause. It was Kira.

Every now and then, it was Kira.

The best way to hide a thing is to put it in the most conspicuous place. All ingenious is simple.

"If only you knew what a pity it is to me," L whispers, stroking Light's cheek with his fingertips.

"I know," Light's whitened lips mutter. All of a sudden he feels restful, because, in the end, it makes sense. He wants to say some more words, but, probably, they are unnecessary. The weighty darkness swirls around him, wrapping him in an eternal shroud, and Light Yagami dies.

Ryuzaki dies at the same instant. There is no such man anymore. The body, which belonged to him once, sits in the puddle of bright arterial blood on the floor of a Tokyo building, and holds the corpse of a young man. There left only one short, strong stab of the knife to join the definitive obscurity.

Somewhere over there, outside the building, mute bells are shouting.

Somewhere over there, a Shinigami crooks its bloodless lips in the shadow of smile.


End file.
